Making A Meal Of It
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Dean, Seth and Roman are spending Christmas together. They're each bringing something unique to the table, literally.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Contains polyamory._

* * *

**MAKING A MEAL OF IT**

Dean didn't know Christmas; it'd always just been happy hour in his eyes. It was gonna be different this year though and he knew exactly what he was going to bring to the table. He fucking grew ingredients, he was going smash his way towards something awesome and delicious. He was going to have to fucking enjoy himself.

So he crushed garlic and pounded vegetables into a chunky pulp. There was a smear of chilli power across his left cheek and his fingers were wet with tomato juice. Fuck turkey, Dean was making salsas and dips. He wanted something with flavor, something that'd slap his tongue awake and make Seth's eyes bulge out. Roman could always stand the heat, Dean wanted him to smile appreciatively and for Roman's kisses to glow with a burn that Dean had contributed to.

Seth made a nuisance of himself, hanging over Dean's shoulder, stealing bites of sauce and vegetables. He poked his fingers into mixing bowls and uncovered dishes so that he could try everything once or twice, cooked or not. Dean was happy to work and manhandle Seth simultaneously, he stirred a bowl with a spoon and shoved his other hand into Seth's backpocket. They traded hungry kisses in front of the open fridge until their fingers and faces started to numb and the butter began to drip. Roman rolled dough out on a cool countertop, wrapping a strong arm around Dean for leverage while reaching for a measuring jug, kissing them both in a way that made Dean's hair was fucking curl. They didn't always get a lot done but it was fucking fun; the way everything should be.

More than once, Dean stuffed a chilli into Seth's mouth and grinned at the color Seth turned.

"Great plan – kill my tongue so I can't actually taste your food," Seth pointed out, once he could speak again.

Dean immediately pulled Seth into a filthy open-mouthed kiss. He sucked on Seth's tongue and felt Seth's cock stiffen against him. Mmm. They only parted when Dean flailed out a hand which clattered into a whisk and nearly upturned a bottle of olive oil. After that, Seth's eyes were almost black when he gazed at Dean. Dean licked his lips; they were tingling thanks to the chilli Seth had eaten. His tongue was tingling too. It felt great.

"Taste that?" Dean wanted to know with a slightly breathless leer.

Seth made a greedy noise. Dean thought about his tomato salsa with its burning edge and ton of fresh ingredients, his cool yoghurt dip and the thing that looked like it could have been hummus if it wasn't so violently green. It tasted good though, they all did. They'd taste even better on Seth and Roman's lips. Dean wanted the tingling to last forever.

* * *

Seth felt like he'd overdone turkey already, thanks to Thanksgiving, so he made some calls to make something different happen. He'd traveled all over the country, all over the world and he'd made some really awesome connections. There was the guy who ran a microbrewery that produced great beer, and the couple who always knew how to get their hands on the last available tickets for gigs that Seth was always interested in. Most usefully right now, Seth knew people who knew someone who raised grass-fed cattle and sold amazing prime cuts of beef.

Seth knew how to cook red meat. He'd always enjoyed charring steaks on the grill and tenderizing them in the oven. When he'd traveled around the world as an independent wrestler, he'd inhaled a lot of shitty food, because it'd been convenient and he'd always had a show to get to. In particular, thanks to the world's love affair with all things edible and cow, he'd eaten a lot of red meat of varying quality; he'd eaten tough two-dollar meals in the nastiest roadside diners, delicious guilty greasy burgers, and a few blue bleeding restaurant steak set-ups. Seth never got sick of beef, it was fucking versatile and Seth appreciated that. It didn't remind him of home; it was more like it was one of those things that'd gotten twisted up in his memories of the road, of making it in the wrestling business, good and bad. It was always there and it almost always tasted good.

Seth wanted to share that with Dean and Roman. The rest of the world would be having turkey at Christmas but steak seemed right for the Shield - bloody and unexpected. It'd taste great with Dean's salsas.

Seth used beer in the marinade and pulled up a good bowl's worth of Dean's potatoes to roast and turn into wedges for Dean's dips. They hadn't actually organized what they were going to do on Christmas Day but it seemed like there was going to be a lot of eating and a lot of being together. Seth smiled quietly around the mouth of a beer bottle.

Tradition dictated bad holiday sweaters, overflowing family squeezed into too-small a space, turkey and all the trimmings, too many gifts and overindulgence, a cozy all-American dream. Tradition dictated a lot of things. It'd never dictated the Shield.

* * *

Roman watched Dean and Seth make their Christmas culinary plans. He liked watching them – Seth wiping dirt off of a cluster of potatoes, Dean humming disjointedly as he wielded a knife. This was going to be a crazy-tasting Christmas but didn't that seem right?

Most nights Roman lay beside Seth and Dean, he watched them reach for each other and for him. He did what he could for Dean's nightmares and Seth's regrets. He buried himself in them and their touches when he was the one that needed anchoring. Most nights, Roman memorized new scars and knew how lucky he was.

Now, he turned the radio on, pop music spilling out that Dean always sang along to and that Seth always mocked him for while tapping his own fingers to the beat. Roman surveyed the kitchen and began building his idea. There was pastry to shape and graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate chips to layer. He wasn't alone. Seth's breath tasted sweet when Roman kissed him, there was chocolate smeared across his fingers too.

Not subtle but that was Seth. A sly smart thief down to his bones. Dean sang along to Ariana Grande, shuffling a dance move or two. He looked at the dish that Roman was working on.

"Sugar coma," Dean identified with relish and anticipation.

Yeah, Roman only made this dessert sporadically because it was so sweet. Christmas was different though, a s'more pie would cut through the heat of Dean's dish and the hearty savory of Seth's. They were probably all going to make like beached whales afterward, full of food, full of each other's effort and total satisfaction. Roman thought about how together they might thoroughly fill the day after Christmas. This wasn't going to be like any Christmas Roman had experienced before.

Dean's breath tasted of red onions and garlic, Roman enjoyed the contrast.

_-the end_


End file.
